


He makes the bees buzz in my chest and brings spring time to my heart

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU - not canon compliant, Alive Hale Family, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Except Claudia Stilinski, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied Knotting, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Mildly Dubious Consent, Stiles and Derek are mates, Werewolf Derek, attempts at fluff, everybody's alive, though not much of it, though not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 06:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13118193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: Werewolves traditionally chase their mate under the swell of the full moon.





	He makes the bees buzz in my chest and brings spring time to my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dollycravee](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dollycravee).



> This is a gift for [Dollycravee](https://dollycravee.tumblr.com/) and made as a pinch hit for [The original Secret Santa Gift Exchange](http://stereksecretsanta.tumblr.com/guidelines).  
> I tried to incorporate all of your likes and I hope you'll enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> End notes contain spoilers to the beginning of the fic.
> 
> You think rating and/or tags are off/missing, let me know. And, as always: Comments, kudos and constructive critism welcome (so is title suggestions)

The wolf’s running. The wind is biting at his skin, the frozen ground hard under his feet, but there’s a smile on his face as he pushes himself a little bit more, trying to get to the source of the enticing scent he’s been following for what feels like hours. There are no sounds but his breathing and the blood rushing in his ears, nothing but one foot in front of the other as he slowly, steadily, gets closer, victory is within his grasp and all he has to do is take just one more step.

There’s a faint noise, one that doesn’t belong to these forests and low enough that Derek knows whoever made it is trying to keep him from hearing. His lips curl further upwards, a triumphant lilt to his smile. He slows down drawing out the inevitable; the hunt has been long, his prey is resourceful and strong making the wolf work hard for every win, but now he can smell the fatigue in the wind can hear the panting breath as his prey trips over a hidden branch and the wolf _knows_ there’s nowhere left to run as he throws back his head and howls his victory to the moon hanging full above his head.

Silently he moves closer, from frozen dirt to a soft blanket of moss taking in the sight of the man standing there, the sound of his rabbit fast heartbeat and the confidence in his stance, the cackling of electricity in the air surrounding him; the man may be prey, may be too tired to run any more, may not put up a fight when the wolf gets close enough to claim him but that doesn’t mean the wolf is foolish enough to think the man isn’t dangerous.

Not even two steps into the clearing and the man turns, his amber eyes catching the glowing gold of the wolf’s as his hands raise to unclasp the heavy cloak shielding his body. A low growl rises in the wolf’s throat as he steps closer, close enough to reach out and grab the man by the hips pulling him flush to the wolf feeling every nerve ending come to life as skin meets skin.

They fall together. The wolf’s back against the forest floor and the man above him straddling his hips, hands on his chest as he ascends and then descends at a punishing pace with the wolf barely able to keep up. The tight clutch around him enough to bring him to the edge even if he’s not allowed to stumble headfirst over it yet. The man’s rhythm is faltering, too tired to keep going but unwilling to stop, defiance written in every line of his body as he keeps going, going, going; panting breaths and heavy eyes as his reserves are diminishing fast.

It isn’t until the man stills completely that the wolf flips them in one smooth move without ever disconnecting them, folds the man in half and then starts thrusting in earnest. Long fingers digging into his arms leaving marks that heal almost immediately, scrambling for purchase as they slip on the sweat slicked skin of his shoulders only to finally tangle in the mess of black hair on his head. The wolf doesn’t need the insistent tugging to bend down and touch lip to shiny lip, getting lost in the taste of ozone and sex and _mate_ ; it is less of a kiss and more of an open mouthed sharing of breath and getting to swallow the breathy moans pushed from the man’s lips with every snap of the wolf’s hips.

Neither would be able to tell how long it is before even the wolf’s movements grow sluggish and it gets increasingly difficult for them to separate. Once there’s nowhere left to go the wolf drags the other closer to him, arranges the man’s legs around his waist a quiet laugh startled from him as the man bonelessly face plants against his neck breathing heavily against the skin. Mindlessly the wolf’s hips are still moving, small thrusts upwards as he lets his head fall to mimic the other’s and then an otherworldly scream tears through the night, pushing fangs into soft skin at the same time as teeth breaches skin and they erupt against each other for what feels like forever.

~

Waking feels like trying to swim through molasses, and if it hadn’t been for the insistent buzzing of the ancient tree Stiles would happily snuggle closer to the wall of heat and sleep a little longer. That’s when he remembers: Deaton painting strange symbols on him as he was chanting something Stiles didn’t understand, the heavy velvet of a cloak the only thing hiding his nudity from the people gathered on the other side of the screen, the way they’d howled when he’d stepped away from it, the flash of a pair of red eyes when he’d reached out his hands turning them palm up on one an acorn on the other a violet where neither had been before.

The alpha had smiled at him before bowing her head prompting the rest of her pack to do the same leaving Stiles shocked into a rare moment of silence, solidified by a strange _glowing_ feeling in his chest making him take half a step towards the regal woman before him, only to be stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder and a shake of a dark head when he turned his to look at the emissary.

“It’s not too late to stop,” Deaton’s quiet voice sounded like a bullet and causing the pack to shift anxiously.

“But it is,” was Stiles’ reply, then turning his head and looking the alpha straight in the eye. “I will run,” there was no uncertainty in his voice and his heart beat was steady and then he was off, the moon guiding his steps as he made his way further through the trees.

Something’s calling to him and his feet answer with every _thud_ against the ground – on any other night Stiles would wonder why they don’t hurt even though he must be stepping on rocks, branches and who knows what else – making it clear there’s a destination that Stiles just isn’t aware of yet.  
He hasn’t been running for long when there’s another howl sounding behind him, causing him to trip over nothing but air; every bit as powerful as whatever’s urging him to keep going forward something in that howl makes him want to stop right where he is. There’s a faint voice echoing in his head reminding him he’s supposed to _run_ , is supposed to let the wolf chase him, not letting himself be caught too easily; yet he’s stumbling, his body slowing down on its own accord though he’s screaming at himself to _keep moving_.

A second howl, much further away than the first and filled with command makes something snap inside him and instantly he’s off again, running faster than he ever has before in his life, faster than he thought himself capable of. Under the light of the moon everything is a blur as he weaves through trees, ferns and everything in between, the road a distant memory behind him as he’s running in circles, going back and forth to obscure his trail.

It’s an embarrassing amount of time later when Stiles gathers his thoughts and ignites the spark in his blood, erasing even the faintest trace of his scent as he makes his way even deeper into the preserve.

~

Derek’s afraid to open his eyes. Too often has he been surrounded by the smell of lemon, vanilla and thunder only to open his eyes and realize it’s all been a dream; too many mornings spent preventing his wolf from taking off for the Sheriff’s house claiming Stiles as his own. The wolf not really caring about concepts like verbal consent – after all, Stiles has been smelling of lust around them since he was sixteen and the only reason it has diminished is because he’s learnt to mask his scent – or the fact that humans don’t believe in mates; oh, they might say they do, might purr it into your ear with honey sweetened words as they do things to your body you didn’t know were possible while a different kind of fire burns behind their eyes than the one coursing through your veins and before you know it, your world is nothing but ashes and horrible what-ifs.

Now, with the cool air against his naked skin, the smell of the forest after a thunder storm in his nose Derek’s terrified that it’s real. There are bits and pieces of the night before playing through his mind. It’s all a little blurry and the colors are muted and it’s probably more feelings and sensations than actual images he’s getting.

He remembers Deaton giving him something that had made him dizzy and drowsy, the sound of the key turning as his mother locked the basement door behind her. There had been howls echoing through the night and at some point Derek thinks he remembers throwing his head back and returning the call with one of his own, triumphant under the swell of the moon as he… he shudders as he recalls the feeling of skin against skin, the warm clutch of a body that was entirely new and yet felt as familiar as his own.

Startled from his thoughts by hands framing his face, Derek opens his eyes and gets caught in the swirl of golden whiskey brown revealing nothing but tender fondness. There’s a smile shimmering in them echoed in the curve of pink lips when Derek’s gaze drops a fraction before coming back to the eyes of the man moving closer one slow inch at a time as if giving _Derek_ time to protest the progression – as if he’d ever, especially when it looks like…

There are lips against his, a tongue making its way past them almost hesitantly but gaining confidence as Derek’s mouth falls open granting access, his moan sparking an answering one from Stiles, before long it’s a loop they’re both feeding into.  
Eventually they’re overcome with the need to breathe. Stiles pulls back but his hands remain firmly in place on Derek’s face, long fingers caressing his cheeks, jaw, even the nape of his neck. However, the best thing is the blinding smile that stretches his mouth wide, showing of the straight line of his perfect teeth. With a shake of his head – who finds _teeth_ attractive anyway – Derek leans in for another kiss, and another and one more until he’s peppering little kisses all over Stiles’ face.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of this, of the taste of Stiles on his lips and the way he laughs when Derek’s lips brush over a ticklish spot, the way Stiles arches closer once he adds a scrape of fang to the pale skin; will never tire of the feel of those large hands against his skin, almost spanning the width of him where Stiles is running them all over Derek’s chest and down his sides. It’s no less frantic than it was in the dark though it’s gentler, exploring in a way Derek has only ever dreamt about.

It’s not until there’s something poking him that Derek realizes they’re still naked and despite what little he remembers not to mention being able to smell what they did mere hours ago he can’t help the blush rising in his cheeks until his whole face feels as if it’s on fire. It’s worth it though when Stiles chuckles, the sound rich and deep and wrapping around Derek like a woolen blanket; the man pulls away though, surprisingly graceful as he rolls to his feet – Stiles are many things: dangerous, fiercely loyal and inhumanely beautiful are just the first that pops into Derek’s head whenever he thinks about him, but graceful has never been a word anybody would use to describe the way Stiles moves – giving Derek the chance to admire the long, lean lines of his body, the muscles usually hidden by baggy clothes making him appear deceptively weak.

The blush Derek thought was gone deepens when he sees the thin, red welts where his claws raked down pale skin, the finger shaped bruises blooming on narrow hips and the faint traces of white on the back of Stiles’ upper thighs; though even amidst his embarrassment it’s impossible to deny the smugness radiating off of the wolf as they both admire the way Stiles looks with their marks on him.  
He doesn’t miss the way Stiles’ grin mirrors that smugness when he reaches out his hand to help Derek stand, his eyes just as busy at taking in Derek’s everything as he was and not trying to disguise it as anything but unabashed staring, making the until then forgotten flesh between his legs perk up in interest. The smiles Stiles sends him at that holds a world of filthy promises but as he doesn’t make a move to come closer Derek wills it to wait, grabs the hand and pulls himself to his feet.

Hand in hand they take a few steps towards a tree Derek can’t remember having seen before, despite having run through these woods his whole life. It looks vaguely like an oak, easily standing forty feet in the air, the crown large enough to shield the clearing they’re in and the leaves the light green Derek associates with spring rather than winter as it currently is. There’s a hum in the air surrounding the tree that’s echoed in Stiles the closer he gets to it and Derek realizes the tree is somehow magic, and then they’re close enough to touch it, Stiles bringing their entwined hands to the rough bark; an ancient, bland voice that he doesn’t know if he’s hearing with his ears or in his mind.

“ _Wolf_ ,” there’s an underlying current to the voice as if whoever’s speaking is pleased by Derek’s presence here. “ _Emissary_ ,” it continues with a hint of mirth that Derek thinks he wasn’t meant to hear. Out the corner of his eye he sees Stiles’ nodding his head respectfully before taking a step closer to the tree while simultaneously pressing closer to Derek, too, squeezing his hand though there’s no way to know if it’s in reassurance or for comfort; he squeezes back regardless.

Derek gets the distinct feeling that Stiles and the tree are communicating though he’s not privy to the conversation they’re having. However, he does see the way Stiles tenses before his body goes completely lax and a small smile finally erases the worry present on his face that Derek realizes was there ever since they began walking towards the tree. Then Stiles takes their still entwined hands off of the trunk of the tree and with a final nod at it he starts walking back to where his cloak is laying on the ground.

~

The house feels like its bursting at the seams. Not just with all the Hales but with Sheriff Stilinski and Stiles’ friends too. There’s a chorus of congratulations and well wishes as they step through the door – they’d thankfully been able to get dressed in the utility room before going further inside the house - and a few lewd comments from uncle Peter and Laura (both met with a whack to the back of their heads by Talia Hale and a flash of red eyes towards all the other weres who look like they might join in on the fun).  
Derek’s confused – not at the lewd comments, he’d expected them – but at the easy acceptance of Stiles being here, as if it had been _planned_. The wolf just lazily stretches, resting its head on its front paws as it contentedly lets the scent of pack wash over it, heedless of Derek’s inner turmoil.

The next several hours disappears in loud voices talking, singing, laughing; Stiles’ large, calloused hand in his as he answers every question the Sheriff (“ _call me John, son_ ,” he’d said after handing Derek the pot of potatoes, though he can’t yet bring himself to think about the older man as anything but “sheriff”) asked though he can’t remember a word they were saying.  
Derek remembers Stiles laughing with his mother, remembers him going toe to toe with Peter in a show of sarcastic wit, recalls the pleased smile his uncle had tried to hide when Stiles managed to one-up him; and does nothing to lessen his confusion but it somehow helps him relax enough to enjoy whatever’s happening. At least up to the point where his grandparents gets up from their chairs and make their way to the couch where Stiles is sleepily resting his head on Derek’s shoulder arms wound around his waist as if worried Derek would ever move.

He tenses making Stiles lift his head and when he catches onto what Derek has he sits up a little straighter; there’s nothing on his face nor his scent to indicate he’s not perfectly relaxed but the bone crushing grip on Derek’s hand tells him he isn’t the only one nervous.

” _Don’t look so nervous, pup_ ,” grandma Hale smiles at them holding out what appears to be a key. 

” _Considering the short notice_ ,” every were in the room laugh at that, “ _your grandpa and I decided to lend you the cabin by the lake_.” 

She drops the key into Stiles’ outstretched hand and he’s up – unconsciously dragging Derek to his feet too - before his fingers have finished closing around them and hugging the two aging weres fiercely and before Derek’s even caught up to the fact that he’s vertical “goodbye”s are flying through the air and he and Stiles are outside once again.

Light’s dancing in the palm of Stiles’ outstretched hand before it gets big enough to fly off. It darts off in between the trees playing hide and seek for a few minutes before dutifully coming back, hovering a little above their heads a few feet in front of them, illuminating the path as they make their way towards the little lake where newly mated Hales for generations have spent their first time together until they’ve found somewhere more permanent to live.  
At the thought Derek panics. Because somehow does not only his own family but Stiles’ too think that they’re _mated_ (and he may recall admiring the clear impression of his teeth on Stiles’ neck) and Derek very distinctly remembers _not_ talking to Stiles about him being his mate, in fact he vividly remembers shutting down that particular train of thought whenever the wolf was straining at its leash. And doesn’t that just put the night before in completely different light.

He breathes deeply trying to regain control of himself when Stiles begins talking – it hits Derek then how quiet he’s been since they woke up in the clearing what feels like a life time ago but is barely twelve hours – the wolf perks its ears urging Derek to pay attention to the words spilling from Stiles’ lips.

Stiles is the only person he knows who can speak for minutes seemingly without having to stop and breathe and Derek has always found himself listening intently to what he’s saying – he knows even more about the male circumcision than Finstock was ever privy to – has always found it soothing in a way nobody else seems to and this is no different: Stiles’ voice washes over him and Derek instantly relaxes.  
Then the words registers and Derek grabs onto Stiles biceps with both hands.

” _Say that again_ ,” he demands somehow managing to shock Stiles into silence for a brief second. Then he smiles.

” _I love you_ ,” he says his heart beat steady and his scent nothing but lemony vanilla and thunder storms and Derek has to know if Stiles tastes as good as he remembers so he leans forward capturing his lips with his own.

Somehow it’s even better than before, Stiles’ lips parting willingly letting Derek’s tongue explore the moist cavern of his mouth, hands roaming what they can reach pulling the other closer until they’re front to front flush against each other, neither needing enhanced senses to figure the effect they have on the other.

_”Bed,”_ Stiles moans into his mouth and Derek simply scoops him into his arms as he takes off running towards the cabin, knowing it’ll be clean enough for what they have in mind.

~

Stiles; his scent, touch, everything.

After almost a full minute giving the both of them time to adjust to the sensations, Stiles starts moving. Slowly pulling back before diving right back in, repeatedly while making minor adjustments to the angle he’s moving in. The slow speed is maddening but Derek doesn’t have much leverage the way his lying. Then Stiles hits something that makes him light up like a Christmas tree and a moan slips through his clenched teeth _finally_ convincing Stiles to pick up the pace.  
The bed’s moving under him, a living thing obeying the command of Stiles’ movements as he pulls almost all the way out just the head of his cock still inside Derek’s heat before slamming right back in keeping up the onslaught to his prostate.

The precipice is within reach Derek’s coiled too tight to last much longer, his hard cock slapping against his skin with every thrust of Stiles’ hips and his own weak attempts at meeting them, his lower stomach glistening where precum’s smeared over his skin; he just needs the final push, a hand around his burning flesh enough, but his own are too preoccupied holding on for dear life, claws shredding the sheets and there are no words left in him to ask for it, all his vocal cords can manage are wanton moans when Stiles does a particular filthy twist with his hips burying himself deeper.  
If Derek had any brain cells left to devote to insignificant things he’d wonder if Stiles was able to read minds as that’s the exact time he lets go of Derek’s hip and long fingers wrap around his cock. The hold is a little too dry and a bit too loose but with how keyed up Derek is it still only takes a few tugs before there’s a tingle at the base of his spine and his balls draw nearer his body and that’s all the warning he gets as every muscle locks up and he’s cumming all over Stiles’ hand and the torn sheets, only distantly aware of the way Stiles’ hips stutters before he, too, stiffens and paints Derek’s insides in white.

Stiles is a warm, heavy weight where he’s draped over Derek’s back keeping him from floating away on the high of his orgasm; by the time Derek’s breathing normally again they’re no longer connected and though he briefly wants to bemoan it there’s also the need to get cleaned up a little before falling asleep.  
He gently nudges Stiles until he willingly gets off, flopping down on the bed with a ridiculously blissful smile on his face that has Derek’s cheeks hurting with how wide his answering smile is, and he couldn’t resist the impulse to move closer and kiss that smile even if he’d wanted to.

They trade lazy kisses for a while but Derek’s not getting any less sticky or itchy so with an Herculean effort he pulls away with a final peck, ignoring the whine Stiles is emitting and goes to the bathroom. After cleaning perfunctory he wets a wash cloth to wipe down the man watching him with heavy lidded eyes as he comes back into the bedroom. Once Stiles’ skin is free of visible trace of their love making Derek throws the wash cloth in the direction of the en suite before sliding under the covers.

It’s a little trial and error and Stiles wiggling about but in the end they’re lying Stiles’ back to Derek’s chest and his arms around him hands resting on Stiles’ stomach Stiles’ hands on top of them. The smell of sex is still overwhelming in the small room but it’s already in the process of being replaced by the way Stiles’ scent is blooming with contentedness and affection, the lightness of it blending perfectly with Derek’s muskier scent and creating something new that has him pressing closer to the tired human, nuzzling the nape of his neck before fitting his mouth over the mark left by his teeth, worrying at the skin there.

Stiles turns in his arms them, sending him a sated but tired smile that makes Derek pull him closer, tangle their legs a little more and pepper feather light kisses to Stiles’ face before claiming his mouth in a kiss that’s equally filthy and chaste.

_”I love you,”_ is the last thing they hear before sleep drags them under, the night filled with dreams of a bright future most of which are bound to come true.

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> It may read as if Derek's an actual wolf during the first part of the story, however he isn't.


End file.
